


Not Just Any Port in the Storm: The Ficlets

by tersa (alix)



Series: Dragon Age:Not Just Any Port in the Storm [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluffy Smut, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alix/pseuds/tersa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emrys is a former City Elf who ran away to Clan Lavellan when his magic manifested. He believes in Elven gods and elvish freedom and a world free of Chantry tyranny. And yet, here he is, the recognized leader of an organization dedicated to exactly that.</p><p>Dorian Pavus is a Tevinter mage, a patriot and expatriate, a man who fits in neither where he came from nor where he is now.</p><p>Unlikely friends, less likely lovers, and yet circumstances can make strange bedfellows, and even stranger loves.</p><p>A (hopefully) growing collection of short stories related to an m!Lavellan/Dorian Pavus romance.</p><p>(Last updated: 1/29/2015 with Ch 2, "Hardships", fluffy smut)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **** MILD GAME SPOILERS FOLLOW ****
> 
> Sending a Dalish mage in to a fancy dress party. Who thought this was a good idea? And why have him try to manage on his own when there's a potential source of advice with likely interest in seeing him succeed?
> 
> My "fix-it" fic for just such a scenario, based on my m!Lavellan playthrough, with bonus relationship fluffy bits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Noblewoman' quest giver at the beginning of the Halamshiral party is not named. I took some creative license to name her.

Emrys Lavellan was somewhere he didn’t want to be, in clothes he didn’t want to wear, going to a place he didn’t want to go.

He tugged at the stiff upright collar of the formal _shemlen_ garments in an ineffectual attempt to loosen the close fit he found it to have, cursed under his breath remembering Leliana’s stern order against doing that, and dropped his hand to the plush seat. Beyond the uncurtained windows, the cultivated woods on the outskirts of Halamshiral rolled past as the carriage conveyed him to the Valmont’s Winter Palace. He longed to disappear into them. He longed to be in the carriage following behind, even if it meant being wedged into a too small seat next to Bull, rather than alone in this one as Josephine’s insistence. “You must not share the attention when you arrive there. Let everyone see the Inquisitor in his full glory.”

He longed for Dorian, his flamboyant demeanor and comforting presence. He would say something, short and cutting, that would make Emrys smile and everything would be okay. “He would be a distraction,” Leliana had noted, with Josephine nodding in crisp agreement. “A Tevinter mage in Orlais? An Inquisitor from the Dalish or no, half the eyes would be on him, and we need them all on you.”

“Only half?” Dorian had quipped. “I’m losing my touch.” But in a private moment after Josephine’s lecture on how he should comport himself, before he walked out of their borrowed lodgings for the carriage, Dorian had accompanied him to the door and stopped him to adjust the braid on Emrys’s shoulders and smooth down the lines of his jacket, coming to rest with his thumbs above Emrys’s heart. “Unfortunately, they’re right. You shouldn’t have insisted I attend with you, I may hurt the efforts to save Celene and curry more favor amidst the nobles by flaunting your association with me.”

“I’ve told you,” Emrys had said, reaching up to cover Dorian’s hands with his own and curled his fingers around them to grip them tightly. Too tightly, probably, but he was terrified at what lay ahead. “I don’t care what they think.”

“You should,” Dorian had said, levity banished. “You heard what Josephine said. They may call it the Game, but they play to the death. I know all too well the consequences of it. Be careful when you get there.”

Emrys had yearned to lean forward and touch his forehead to Dorian’s, to breathe in his spicy, masculine scent so uniquely his. But although his advisors allowed them that moment, he’d been acutely aware of them hovering on the other side of the doorway, waiting for him to exit so they could make their way to their own waiting carriage along with Bull, Dorian, and Cole. He hadn’t, and then he was gone. Alone.

Being the Inquisitor, leading this group of humans couched in Chantry doctrine and authorized by Chantry decree was bad enough, but this...the lights from the gates emerged into view, with the grandiose opulence of the palace twinkling behind it. _This_ was worse by far.

He almost exited the carriage before the footman could open the door for him and swore at himself silently for the narrowly avoided faux pas. This was going to be an excruciatingly difficult evening.

. o O o . o O o .o O o .

“There you are.” Dorian, resplendent in clothes not too different from Emrys’s own but undoubtedly cutting a far finer figure, stepped through the dappled shadows under the trees in the corner of the front terrace to approach him. “I was wondering what had become of you. Really, we can’t leave you alone for five minutes?” he teased as he came to stop near where Emrys stood under the spreading branches. “We walk in, and everyone’s already abuzz at you insulting Lady Cerise. Josephine is all a-twitter trying to smooth the ruffled feathers. What happened?”

His tone was light, but Emrys shot a hurt glare at Dorian, remembering just in time to keep his voice down to a hushed undertone to say, “She called me ‘rabbit’.”

“She did wh--oh.” The widening of his eyes made it clear he grasped the significance of the word, and to his credit, his expression softened. “Oh, _amatus_ ,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

The sympathy in his voice cut through Emrys, and he clenched his jaw. “This was a terrible idea, I shouldn’t be here. I should be out looking for Corypheus and let Josephine and Leliana deal with this.”

The darkness made it difficult to see his eyes, but Emrys thought Dorian was studying him. “Well, if it’s already a terrible idea, let’s see if we can’t embrace that.” He brought his hands together with an extravagant air and clasped them before himself. “This will either work, or blow up as spectacularly as the chantry in Kirkwall.” 

Emrys eyed him warily. “What?”

“It’s fairly common for those of high rank to have others around them in support at soirees like this one. I shall be your dutiful _vassalus_ ,” he said magnanimously and gave Emrys a deep, florid bow at the waist, one arm raised high in the air above his head. Straightening, he commented, “My mother would undoubtedly fall over in a faint to see me as such, but that makes it all the more delicious.”

“What is...a _vassalus_?” Emrys asked with uncertainty.

“ _Vassus_ , manservant, oh, I think they call them varlets in Orlais. I shall stand at your elbow and advise you through the terrible shoals of the Altus here so none of us are eaten alive with a tiny pickle fork. I may cause poor Ambassador Montilet even greater distress,” he went on, tut-tuting. “The _scandal_ of the Inquisitor being advised by a Tevinter mage. Or, it may raise you in their estimation even further.” Emrys could see the gleam of Dorian’s teeth when he smiled. “So risqué.”

Hope was a sharp pain under his breastbone, but he remembered Josephine’s excoriations and raised a feeble protest. “Won’t that make things worse? She said no one could be seen helping me.”

“It’s a risk,” Dorian agreed. “But I think an even greater one would be leaving you to your own devices, and it’s unfortunate that Lady Montilyet failed to recognize that. Now, she will have little recourse if I take up the part, else we lose even more good will.” He sighed and said affectionately, “My poor dear.”

Gratitude welled up, threatening to choke Emrys. “Thank you. Thank you, _ma vhenan_.”

“Now, none of that,” Dorian chided, but there was warmth in his tone. “We need not draw any more attention than you already will to your origins. You can thank me later.” His voice dropped to an almost sub-audible purr. “In private.” With another flash of white teeth in the dim light, he asked more normally, “Now, what did Lady Cerise ask you to do before you so callously hurt her feelings, you thoughtless knave?”

. o O o . o O o .o O o .

The night air was cold on Emrys’s heated cheeks, but all the more welcome for its clear purity. He took a deep breath and held it, a welcome respite from the heated ballroom and miasma of Human and the cloying perfumes they drenched themselves in. The receding whisper of Morrigan’s slippers faded into the background noise of the party as she returned to it, leaving him alone on the balcony that commanded a spectacular view of the woods he had admired on the way in and the moon overhead.

More footsteps approached, heavier, a man, and Dorian’s voice. “There was an ancient dowager looking for you. Said she had twelve daughters! I told her you’d left already,” he said smugly, “You can thank me later. Or now.” The frivolity cooled fractionally when he drew up beside Emrys at the railing and finally caught sight of his face, concern tinging his. “But you look lost in thought. Something on your mind?”

Inside, Emrys smiled wearily, but none of it touched his expression. “I’m just worn out,” he admitted. “Tonight has been...very long.”

Dorian chuckled. “You won!” he announced with self-deprecating humor. “You saved the day. Literally, the day is saved.” He leaned one elbow against the balustrade and flung a hand out expansively. “You should be celebrating! Enjoy yourself while you can.” His eyes lit with capricious intent. “What you need is a distraction. I have just the thing.” He extended his hand across the stone railing towards Emrys, not quite far enough to touch, but the offer was plain. “Let’s dance.”

With a wan smile, Emrys bridged the distance to lay a gloved hand across Dorian’s. He could barely feel the hand through the layers of kid leather, but then Dorian’s hand moved, and it was _life_ , and he was there. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

A smirk turned up the corner’s of Dorian’s mouth as he murmured, “Thank goodness _one_ of us has a little initiative.” He drew Emrys into position close to him, one arm going around Emrys’s waist, the other hand clasped with his as he led him through simple steps to the music wafting through the door from the ballroom.

For the first time since arriving in Halamshiral, Emrys relaxed, tension draining from him with the suddenness of a tapped barrel. It was a relief for it to be over, the assassination plot thwarted, the culprit taken into custody, the Orlesian civil war tentatively at an end, to gain the support of Empress Celene and her vast resources, thanks largely to Dorian’s astute and surprisingly understated guidance through the evening. His suspicions had proved correct and his presence at Emrys’s side had caused a stir, but his advice had, with no doubt in Emrys’s mind, done far more good than Emrys himself.

Abruptly, Emrys leaned even closer against Dorian’s body, wanting that additional contact, only to feel Dorian tense in response before giving a short, rueful laugh. “Sorry, old habits.” He brought their joined hands upwards to brush gloved fingers lightly across Emrys’s jawline as he met Emrys’s eyes with his own. “It’s still strange to believe that my being Tevinter is the only concern anyone here might have.”

Wryness tinged Emrys’s faint smile, enjoying the lingering tingle across his skin where the glove had passed. “I saved the day, remember? I think they owe me.”

Dorian’s low-pitched chuckle moved through Emrys as well, as close as they were. “That’s the spirit. Maybe we’ll make a courtier of you yet.”

Emrys’s laugh was a bright bubble of sound. “By the Dread Wolf, _no_. I’ll leave that to Josephine and Leliana.”

The music inside came to an end to an upswell of indistinct voices, and Dorian took a step away to make a gallant bow over the hand he continued to hold in his. “Well, Inquisitor, should we enact your escape and get you home?”

“ _Please_ ,” Emrys replied in fervent undertone.

“Good,” Dorian said with equal ardency and a wicked smile. “Because I believe you owe _me_ thanks from earlier, that I expect delivery of.”

“Gladly,” Emrys responded in heart-felt gratitude. “Just get me out of here.”

Dorian grinned. “Of course, _amatus_ ,” then added suggestively, “Your wish is my command.”


	2. Hardships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A random Dorian banter in Emprise du Lion, fluffy smut is spawned.
> 
> Takes place after "[Reflections](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3241025)"

" _Mountains and cold--let's bring Dorian!_ "

Tramping around the ass end of southern Orlais in the region they called Emprise du Lion--an affectation that would make Dorian laugh if he could feel his feet. Or his legs--Dorian found a new definition of 'cold'. Skyhold was in the mountains, neck deep in snow, but it wasn't the same kind of misery as hiking through it. Emrys--well, Emrys of course, looked _alive_ here, even more so than he had in the Emerald Graves, scarred cheeks pink from the wind that constantly ruffled his tousled hair and a perpetual half-smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

Dorian found the first silver lining that first night in camp, when the sun had dropped so early given how far south they were and the temperature had dropped to degrees that made Dorian want to curl up and whimper if it didn't have an image to uphold. Then, Emrys had nonchalantly--nay, maybe with ennui--assigned out sleeping arrangements as he routinely did, putting Dorian into a tent with him. But when it came time to bed down, he casually added his furs on top of Dorian's and slid under to join him without even a fare thee well. Shivering, Dorian had wrapped himself around Emrys's lean frame and, oh blessed Maker, _warmth_ finally as their bodies created a shared pocket of heat beneath the furs.

The second upside came a few nights later, in that strange early morning time when it probably should've been daytime but was still dark here. He stumbled out to take a morning piss to the sight of a few early risers beginning to move around and stoke the wood for the fires, but was all too grateful to return to the tent and with teeth on the verge of chattering, slip back into the welcoming furs with an Inquisitor who blinked sleepily at him. Slender arms enfolded him, drew him close to take the chill off, and Emrys's face nuzzled into Dorian's neck, warm breath at first curling against Dorian's skin followed by soft lips. Arousal came then, then terror, the sound of the camp beginning to rouse heard through the heavy leather of the tent, someone might hear, someone might interrupt, but Emrys's hands were stroking his back and his mouth was beginning to move with greater purpose across the skin of Dorian's throat, and the terror became its own peppery fire, could they fuck in the middle of camp and no one be the wiser?

He learned, then, what a wonder it was to wake up like this, with air so cold as to nip his nose, but heat almost to melting under the blankets as they couched, not removing the clothes in which they slept but moving them aside to find skin, a wrist pressed between waistband and belly so a hand could stroke a cock, the art of listening, so dark he was unable to see, so quiet as not to be heard, having to hear the quickness in Emrys's breathing, the stutter to an inhale, the breathy puff of an exhale, in lieu of moans and groans. The noise of the camp brought an unspoken urgency to it, quick, finish before a scratch came to the flap, someone wanting to speak to the Inquisitor, which might have been quite impossible with his mouth occupied with kissing Dorian's, tongue-tied in ways that Dorian found best. Dorian for the first time heard the catch in Emrys's throat, the explosive noise at the back of his throat like a sound being swallowed, that presaged his climax, wet warmth filling the palm of Dorian's hand as Emrys shuddered against him. It pushed him to the brink, so a few quick jerks of Emrys's hand and a slip of the thumb across the tip and he was coming as well, soiling his the furs in ways he found both distasteful and erotic at the same time.

It wasn't to be stood for, and, almost as soon as he was done, he rolled over to find something to clean up the mess, wiping of his hand, the furs, and Emrys all in one go. Emrys, in lazy defiance of Dorian's fastidiousness, stretched and watched with the half-lidded satiated expression of a cat in a sunbeam. When Dorian had finished, Emrys reached a hand out to him and, utterly besotted, Dorian rejoined him in the bedding because it was _still_ fucking cold and Emrys had been considerate enough to take the damp spot.

Then Dorian discovered the simple joy to be found in snuggling in warmth on a cold morning, a shared murmured "Good morning," and ignoring the occasional comments of "We should really get up," in response to the sounds of the cooks making breakfast in exchange for little butterfly kisses that had more of affection than passion in them.

Mountains and cold and numbness and snow, but at least he had these nights with Emrys as consolation


End file.
